


oh, well, i roam from town to town

by cedartrees



Series: Dead Man's Hand [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Could maybe be tagged as a slow burn, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Please dont kill me this is my first fic ever, Probably no smut because i'm a chaste and modest creature, not sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedartrees/pseuds/cedartrees
Summary: Some crazy vault dweller shows up in The Third Rail and, after a little bit of convincing, hires the scruffy mercenary, MacCready.





	oh, well, i roam from town to town

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN THE FALLOUT WORLD OR THE CHARACTERS IN IT
> 
> This is my first piece of fanfiction. Please don't tear me a new one because X is wrong or Y happened before Z. Constructive critisicm is welcome however. No beta, all mistakes are my own.

Smoke and the cloying scent of chems hung thick in the air. Magnolia’s voice threaded through the fog to penetrate the skinny corridors of The Third Rail. Robert Joseph Maccready warily eyed the two adversaries before him. They were Gunners, folks he knew all too well. Winlock and Barnes they were called. A right pair of nasty shanks. They loomed over him, menacing snarls cut into their faces. MacCready was tense and failing miserably at hiding it. Winlock made a final sniping remark and stalked from the tiny back room MacCready was holed up in with Barnes in toe. MacCready breathed a quiet sigh of relief and let his eyes fall shut for a moment.

Someone entered the room. Dang wretches. He let out a snarl of frustration. “Last warning, Win-”

“Trouble?”

MacCready’s eyes snapped open and then narrowed in suspicion. It wasn’t Winlock and Barnes. It was a stranger. A lady, face shadowed by a battered fedora and dressed in a Vault suit. She stepped forward, tipping the edge of her hat up. Glasses, lots of freckles and a strongly hooked nose. A Pip Boy on her wrist too… Behind her, Mac recognised the trenchcoat and ominous yellow eyes glaring at him. Nick Valentine. Mac hadn’t ever spoken to the detective, but he’d seen him around from time to time and had heard plenty of tales.

He held his tongue for a moment, eyeing the pair in suspicion. “Look lady,” he finally said. “If you’re preaching about the atom, or looking for a friend, you’ve got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun… then maybe we can talk.” The stranger pushed her glasses up her nose and glanced at Valentine. “Perhaps. Tell me who those guys were first.”

MacCready shrugged. “A couple of morons looking to climb the ladder of success by stepping on everyone else on the way up.” She grimaced. “Know the feeling.” That peaked his interest slightly, but he wasn’t about to let it show. “Now, what about you? How do I know I won’t end up with a bullet in my back?” Her foot began to tap and she considered him. “You don’t. It’s a risk you gotta take. Anyways, what could a naive vault dweller like me do to a nasty merc like you?”

Mac knew it was a jest and that this lady was far more dangerous than she let on, but dang, she was certainly charming. And a vault dweller too. There were… rumors about the vaults. Bunkers filled with people and things untouched by radiation. Radiation free goods were incredibly rare in the Commonwealth, you could make a fortune off raiding a vault. “Price is 250 caps.. up front. And no room for bargaining." 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully and looked to Valentine, an unspoken conversation passing betwen her and the detective. "Everything’s negotiable. 200.” She finally said, gaze returning to MacCready.

Would it be breaking his promise if he cursed in his head? Crap crap crap. He needed those caps so bad. MacCready tried to keep from gritting his teeth together. Damn it. “Deal.” He managed to say, smiling easily.

“So, is this the sort you’re taking up with now?” That came from Valentine. The synth stood slightly behind the lady, looking like the devil in a trenchcoat. “Yeah. And who could blame her?” MacCready snapped back. She stepped between them, glaring at Valentine. “I’ll be alright, Nick. I need you back at Sanctuary.” The detective sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat. “Alright then. Take care of yourself out there, kid.”

She tipped her hat to Valentine and turned back to MacCready. “You all set?” He nodded and snagged his rifle from where it was leaning against the wall. “Where to, boss?” She cracked her knuckles and gestured down the hallway. “Hotel Rexford. Not moving out till I’ve gotten some sleep.” Mac nodded again and followed her out of the Third Rail.

She rented a room at the Rexford, tramping up the stairs and dumping a lumpy backpack at the foot of the bed. “Don’t try to get in bed with me. And be careful waking me up should you feel a need to, I’m rather twitchy and Chopper is very sharp.” She reached down to tug a bladed tire iron from the backpack and flip it in her grip.

Mac eyed the weapon. A bladed tire iron? Called Chopper. He shrugged inwardly, her funeral. “Got it, boss.” She dug a straw pillow and balled up sleeping roll from the pack, tossing them in his direction. “Take these, I’m not a total wretch.” She waited till he’d laid them out in against the wall, where there was a good view of the door and nothing to trip him, before turning off the lamp. The soft green glow of her Pip Boy illuminated the room for a moment after, but it shut off and the room grew dark.

Mac listened to her breathing for several minutes. Either she was good at faking sleep, or she was actually asleep. He wasn’t gonna turn his back on her either way. He only slept for a short while, perhaps half an hour, sometime after midnight. Wide awake and alert for trouble the rest of the night.

She slept still as stone, so Mac noticed when she began to shift and wake up just before dawn. She rolled over and squinted blearily at him. “Are you still there? I can’t see crap without my glasses.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders and scaping a hand across his face. Her hair made a wild halo around her freckled face and there was a red mark on her face from where she’d slept on the Pip Boy. “Yep, boss. Still here.” She flopped back down onto the mattress and gave him a thumbs up. 

“Morning then.” She searched for the fedora and glasses with one hand and dragged the backpack over with the other. “Pillow and sleeping roll, please.” Mac slid them over and stood up with a stretch. She pulled a hairbrush from the pack and began tugging the tangles from her hair. Before long, she’d pinned it up and slapped the worn fedora onto her head.

“Let’s move out.” The boss shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Good plan, boss.” Mac chirped. She looked at him over her shoulder as if she wanted to say something as they descended the stairs to the ground floor. He cautiously met her gaze for a moment, then continued his scan of the Rexford lobby. She kept silent.

“Do you have a name?” They hadn’t even made it out Goodneighbor yet. MacCready had come to the realization that he’d been hired by a chatterbox. Joy. It wasn’t that Mac dislike talking, it was just that noise attracted unsavory creatures and things like bloatflies to the dead. “MacCready.” They were at the door out of Goodneighbor and she paused with one shoulder leaning against the door. “Please to meet you, MacCready. I’m Sylvie Forester.”


End file.
